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What if postpartum lasts much longer than we've been told?
Updated: 6 days ago
Six weeks is a check-in. It isn't a deadline.
I remember the feeling of reaching those early milestones after having my son.
Six weeks.
Three months.
Six months.
And somewhere along the way, there seemed to be an unspoken message:
You should be getting back to normal now.
But what if there isn't actually a "back to normal"?
What if becoming a mother changes much more than the first few weeks after birth?
And what if we gave ourselves permission to think about postpartum not as a short period to get through, but as the beginning of a much longer journey?
So how long is postpartum?
There isn't one simple answer.
From a medical point of view, the first six weeks are a crucial period for physical recovery and postnatal care. The NHS recommends a postnatal check at around 6-8 weeks, while international guidance focuses heavily on the first six weeks because this is a particularly important period for the health of both mother and baby. In many cultures the first 40 days are seen as a sacred window, focussed on deep rest, nourishment, bonding and community support.
To put it simply, 6 weeks is when a woman is around the time postnatal bleeding often begins to settle. But that doesn't mean a woman is " recovered" at six weeks.
Because postpartum doesn't end when bleeding stops.
In fact, guidance from the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists describes postpartum care as an ongoing process, rather than a single appointment, and recommends continuind care according to a woman's individual needs.
And I think this distinction matters.
Because six weeks can be an important medical milestone.
It doesn't have to (and shouldn't) be the finish line.
Your body doesn't work on postpartum deadlines
Giving birth is a huge physical event. However it unfolded.
Your body has grown, carried, laboured and birthed a baby. And then immediately been asked to feed, hold, soothe and care for another human being.
Sure, we are made for this. But...
Nature doesn't account for us doing it in today's world... which for the majority of us means doing it without support, with no wider family to lean onto, without a village to hold us and show us the way.
Perhaps you are breastfeeding.
Perhaps you are recovering from stitches, tearing or a caesarean.
Perhaps your body feels like it doesnt belong to you anymore.
Or perhaps, physically you are doing quite well. But then there is everything else.
The broken nights.
The constant mental load.
The adjustment to being responsible for the life of another human 24/7.
The pressure to come back to work.
Your relationships.
Your identity.
Your priorities.
The way you now organise your day around someone else's needs.
These things don't magically disappear because the calendar says six weeks.
And then there's the strange pressure to "bounce back"
I think this is where the language about postpartum can become unhelpful.
Because even when nobody explicitly says you should be back to normal, that's still the message we hear all around us.
The first three months of breastfeeding had been tough for us. Bit of jaundice, bit of tongue tie, and me feeling I was failing as a mother because I was struggling to get baby to latch.
But I was just too determined to breastfeed to give it up. So went to the local lactation and breastfeeding support group. A bunch of lovely mamas, all on the same boat, juggling sleepless nights, mastitis, and the daily fight with nipple shields.
And there to greet me, a lovely consultant, my kind of woman I thought, which despite all the good intentions smiled at me and commented:
"You gave birth 3 weeks ago and are already back in your jeans?! Wow!"
Surely she meant well. Surely she meant it as a compliment.
Inadvertedly she carried out the same message as everyone else.
What she couldn't know is that I would occasionally not make it home in time, and had to wrap a jacket around those same jeans in total embarrassment. Because, even though my body looked "back to normal", I am sorry but no, it wasn't.
It took me time, patience and tailored advice to feel in full control of it again.
And that's ok. We came off those nipple shields too. And breastfed our son for 2.5 years.
So again...
Get your body back.
Get your fitness back.
Get your routine back.
Get your work back.
Get your independence back.
Get your old self back.
...but why would we even want our "old self" back? Can't we instead recognise and honour the miracle we have just been part of? We are simply not the same as before. And that's okay too.
What if motherhood isn't something you recover from?
What if it's something you grow through?
That doesn't mean you have to love every part of it.
It doesnt mean you shouldn't want support. And it certainly doesn't mean you have to accept pain, discomfort or sympoms that deserve proper attention.
It simply means that becoming a mother can be a much bigger thansition that we sometimes allow ourselves to acknowledge.
Motherhood needs a longer view
Our son is three now.
And when I look back at those first months, I can see how much of my focus was on getting through the immediate stages. One after the other. For over two years.
Firstly being fully in love with and totally absorbed into this new little life of ours... then slowly beginning to wonder when will I be able to make space for myself again?
The feeding.
The sleeping.
The nappies.
The appointments.
The exhaustion.
Then came the next stage.
The weaning.
Childcare.
Returning to work.
Trying to find time for myself.
Trying to work out who I was now.
And then another stage.
And another.
But don't get me wrong. I did it and I still do it with love.
You do it with love. We all do it with love.
With so much love that feels so easy to put ourselves aside
.
With so much care for them, that without realising it we have stopped caring for ourselves.
Today I don't feel like I am "postpartum" in the way I understoon the word then my son was born.
But I also don't think becoming a mother was something that happened to my body in a limited period of time.
It has continued to shape how I move, how I work, how I rest, how I think about my time, and how I look after myself.
And perhaps that's the part we don't talk about enough.
The long game of motherhood.
This is one of the reasons I created (M)otherside.
Not because mothers need another thing on their to-do list.
Quite the opposite.
Because if there is one constant I have found in all mothers, is how easily we all put ourselves to the bottom of that list.
So I wanted to create something that recognised that motherhood is a long game.
That your needs change.
That some seasons are about recovery.
Some about rebuilding strength.
Some are about simply getting through the week.
Sometimes you have more space for yourself.
Sometimes you have almost none.
So perhaps looking after yourself doesn't need to mean finding an hour.
Nor a magical routine. Nor an ambitious fitness regime.
Looking after yourself can start now, with 5 minutes you dedicate to you.
A few breaths.
A little movement.
Releasing your shoulders.
Feeling your feet on the floor.
Taking a moment before you rush into the next thing.
Not because 5 minutes will magically solve everything.
But because they will be available to you everyday and slowly add up.
Reminding you that you are still in the picture.
And that matters.
So, when does postpartum end?
Maybe that's not the most useful question.
Maybe a better question is: What kind of support do I need now? Not what did I need six weeks after birth?
Not what did I need six months ago?
And not what does the woman next to me seem to be managing?
Because motherhood will keep on changing.
And you are allowed to change with it.
You don't need to bounce back.
You don't need to become the woman you were before.
You don't even need to have it all figured out.
You might simply need a little space to come back to yourself.
And perhaps that's something we can keep makign room for.
Not just in those first six weeks, but throughout the long game of motherhood.
With love
Chiara
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